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The opening sentence promises, and threatens, equally. "The Nephew was lain silent atop the paper sacks of pony nuts near the roof of the agric supply warehouse, dreaming about ghost bags, when his mobile diddled 'Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves'". From this arch but poetic introduction Warner spins a strange, eerie, brutish, edgy, kinetic, voluptuous story, set in his usual sodden and hallucinatory Scotland-on-steroids. The characters are a motley crew of misfits, lordlings, computer geeks, scribblers, and Caledonian soaks, with names like Raincheck, Macushla, Jaxter, Hacker, Syrupy Piece, Tracy the Trolley, and Brian. Together and apart these strange creatures wander the lochs and braes of Auld Scotland doing drugs, each other, and occasional disservices to the English language.
What is it about? That's a bit harder to say. The themes are the perennial Warner ones: blurred identity, rustic quirkiness, the intrusion of the surreal. There are many stunning moments of sly, shocking, vivid, Warnerian beauty; there are also a few moments of lazy underwriting, and overheated imagining. Somewhere among all this glory and disorder is probably a serious take on what it means to be a whole human being in late-capitalist Europe. This is deeply, deeply intriguing.--Sean Thomas
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Warner's first two books, especially These Demented Lands, exhibited a kind of wild borderline surrealism that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. These Demented Lands didn't really have enough of a narrative line and ultimately fell apart, however here he's got just enough of a plot to keep everything together. The Nephew's quest is often hilarious, often horrifying, and wholly imaginative, while at times veering off course and just barely holding together. Warner's clearly a talented writer and this is one of his better efforts, but I'd still suggest trying his much more accessible The Sopranos before you delve into this.
The plot? Well. The Man Who Walks - a bizarre character I couldn't begin to explain - steals £27,000 and goes to spend it on drink and debauchery in the Scottish Highlands. His nephew, cunningly called The Nephew, sets out after him, and encounters all manner of weird and wonderful goings-on. Any more wouldn't do justice to the text.
However. This really isn't among Warner's best work. His usual gorgeous lyrical prose poetry passages are here, many of the subject of nature. But. There is not enough distance between the author and his creations, and the narrative voice all just comes off as one person, ie the writer, instead of the several disparate voices it is meant to be, which is pretty disappointing.
But hey. The whole thing is amusing enough, if confusing in places. It's like reading a David Lynch film, if that helps you out any.
And it probably doesn't.
Warner fans will eat it up. Everybody else will just be confused. Actually, so will Warner fans be, so strike that. If nonsense and sensibility is what you're looking for, look no further.
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